


Diluted

by i_ship_an_armada



Series: Inevitable [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Blow Jobs, Flint has hair, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 02:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21110867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_ship_an_armada/pseuds/i_ship_an_armada
Summary: Silver watches Flint watch him.





	Diluted

Captain Flint sips his rum, grimacing slightly as he sits back, the rickety chair groaning under the pressure of his shifting weight. The brothel brims with activity around him. Scantily and partially clad women hang on their prospective patrons for the evening, giggling in their ears, plying them with more drink, loosening their tongues and their coin purses. These women know better than to approach Flint, though there are a couple of new faces who valiantly make the attempt before Max directs them away with an apologetic half-smile.

Silver leans against the bar, a cup in his hand, his gaze at a thousand yard stare. A girl walks up to him, Esther, Flint thinks her name is, and places a hand on his elbow, leaning in close to whisper something in his ear. Flint watches as Silver tilts his head and graces her with a kind smile before shaking his head slightly, murmuring an obvious refusal and then lifting the cup to his lips again. 

After a while, Max sits down next to Flint. They look at each other for a moment, shrewd eyes focusing on Flint’s unwavering narrow gaze.

“With every day that passes, he becomes more like you.”

“What?”

She smiles and angles her head toward Silver, though she watches Flint. “He is different now, your Silver.”

Flint balks at Max referring to Silver as his, but finds his own gaze drawn back to him at the counter. 

The redhead is new. Her red hair, not dark enough to be auburn, hangs in thick, gentle waves down her back. Freckles dust her cheeks and shoulders, her skin not the pale cream that would brand her as new to the climate, but burnished in a pleasant tan that enhances the color of her skin and makes her gleam like copper. Her eyes bely her nervousness, but she walks with confidence, John Silver her target. 

In nearly the same move Esther made just moments before, she lays a hand on Silver’s arm. Tension ripples through Silver’s frame as he turns to her, mouth poised to say something, but as Flint watches, the words die on Silver’s lips. His eyes widening as they flicker over the redhead’s face, her bare shoulders, and then back up to her eyes. Blinking, a flush creeps up his neck. Flint sees it, even from where he sits. Silver’s blue eyes flick away, skittering over the pockets of people in the room before they land on Flint, hesitating for just a beat too long before moving back to the woman in front of him. His posture changes then, shifting into something more...interested.

They exchange a few more words, and then the girl walks past Silver, dragging her long fingers across the fabric of his shirt at his belly. She murmurs something to him, and Silver drains his cup. He hesitates for only a moment more before following her toward the stairs, her hips swinging enticingly.

“You are staring, Captain.”

Flint feels the heat rise to his face, hot and shameful, and he feels thankful of where he sits in the shadows. He presses his lips thin and turns his hardened gaze to Max.

“Your point?” he growls.

Max regards him for a moment, a small private smile curving her lips. “One thing I have learned in this profession, Captain Flint, is that the men who come in here always have a type, a pattern of choice. Featherstone? He always asks for Idelle. If she is not available, he walks away. Franklin? He enjoys Maria or Helene, or both, or others, but only if they are of darker hair and eye. Ingersoll? He desires any with a large chest and backside and leaves the smaller girls to others. O’Rourke? He will only choose those with blonde hair and blue eyes. He told me once it was because his first love had the same coloring.” Here she pauses and leans forward. “In all the time I have known John Silver, he has never chosen a woman.”

Flint snorts. “Why should I give a shit? Besides, I know that’s untrue.  _ You _ , even—”

“The first time he walked in these doors, yes. He was with women. But he did not choose us. And afterward, he has chosen no one.” Max cocks her head. “So, do you see now?”

Flint’s heart thumps, but he sneers to cover his discomfort. “As I said, I don’t see why I should give a shit who John Silver fucks or doesn’t. It is none of my concern as long as it doesn’t interfere with my crew, my ship, or my plans.”

Max nods, but her knowing eyes cut like a knife. “Whatever you say, Captain.” She stands, running her hands over her skirts to smooth them. Before she turns away, her smile goes just a bit sad.

“You look tired, Captain, and it is late. If you wish, there is an empty room for you to rest for a bit.” She looks up the stairs where Silver and the redheaded girl disappear into a room and shut the door behind them. “Third door on the right.” 

* * *

Of all the rooms in this whorehouse, Max had given him this one. Of course there is a reason, and he knows it even before he shuts the door behind him, and yet he chooses to step forward, past the bed and the small battered nightstand to stand in the middle of the room. 

The original room was a large one, much larger than a brothel might need. At some point, someone had recognized this flaw and added a second door and a makeshift wall from thin fabric. 

Flint supposes some found the set up as a benefit rather than a detriment.

The gauzy material did nothing to hide the other room, only to blur it just a bit, to give it a surreal quality. 

Flint couldn’t stop, couldn’t help but stare at the distilled vision of Silver reaching out and pulling the redhead by the neck against his chest. 

“Don’t speak,” he says into her ear, only loud enough so the words barely drift into Flint’s hearing. 

Flint tries to look away, but his resolve crumbles at the sound of Silver’s low moan and the rustle of fabric as the girl sinks to her knees. He feels trapped, held into place, watching and absorbing details he is better off not knowing.

Silver’s tanned fingers bunch in the girl’s hair, twisting at it, holding her steady as she strips him of his breeches and they fall to the floor with a whisper. 

A breeze from the open windows shifts the fabric between the rooms, and when it calms, there is a sliver that does not come together again. Flint, caught, can not move. Does not want to move as his breath hitches and stutters.

The muted sounds the girl make has Flint shifting in discomfort, and his hand presses against the placket of his breeches.

A flash of heat tears through him, and James Flint, though he is many things, is not a liar to himself or a fool. He wants to be in the next room, on his knees, led by Silver’s hands. He wants to be the one Silver strains against, the one to make him pant like that.

Flint attempts to look away again, to step back into the shadows of the unlit portion of the room behind him, but the ripple of a deep moan once again brings his eyes up, back to the flimsy divider. How cruel is fate that Silver looks over just then, that his eyes widen just a fraction in recognition.

Their eyes meet and Flint’s heart gives a painful yank against his ribcage. Silver pauses, and then his eyes flash, hot with purposeful intent. 

He turns his attention down toward the girl and winds his fingers more tightly in the her hair, pulling her head back and holding her still as he begins to sway his hips forward to fuck her mouth. Her eyes close and she lets it happen without protest, while she skates her hands up his thighs.

A shudder runs down Flint’s spine and his cock throbs. But he won’t, he can’t take the next step and bare himself. Instead, he digs the heel of his palm against himself, ignoring how his hips twitch at the contact.

Silver’s pace picks up. “That’s it. God, the mouth on you,” he purrs, and Flint knows beyond a doubt the words are meant for him and not the whore. “I bet you love this, don’t you? I bet you could swallow me down that throat of yours, all of me.” He laughs, a throaty, breathless sound, and he lets his head loll back. His curls fall away, revealing the pleasure on his face, the twist in his expression. “Fuck,” he breathes, surprise evident in his tone. “I want it. I want you to use that mouth on me like you need it to live.” 

He snaps his hips forward and Flint tastes blood in his mouth as he bites back a moan. Waves of heat ripple over James’ skin and his bollocks pull up tight against his groin. Unable to stop himself, he rubs down the length of his cock through his trousers, the fabric rough and uncomfortable, and his touch not quite enough. 

Silver tilts his head in Flint’s direction and opens his eyes just enough to see him do it. A slow smile spreads over his lips and as James watches, a deep flush rises up over the collar of his shirt to color high spots on Silver’s cheeks. This time, he does not look away, his face open and contorting in his pleasure as his hips speed up. 

Flint hears his breathing, harsh and uneven. Or maybe it is his own. 

Silver’s gaze moves down to where Flint is touching himself and his lips part on a gasp. “Please,” he says.

All semblance of resistance dissolves with one word, and Flint tears open the placket of his trousers. He licks his palm with sloppy imprecision and pulls himself out, curling his fingers over his length. A shudder almost tears him apart as Silver whispers, “Move.”

And Flint does. He strokes himself with a firm grip, imagining the taste of Silver’s skin, the weight of his cock against James’ tongue. A twist of his wrist and he sighs, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he wrenches them open again. He does not want to miss a moment of this.

Silver’s mouth is open, his hips still working his cock into the whore’s mouth, when he lets go with one hand to raise it to his lips. He slips three fingers inside and pauses, his eyes skittering meaningfully to Flint’s hand moving, shuttling up and down. He raises his eyes again.

_ Oh _ .

Flint brings his own fingers to his mouth and wraps his lips around them, then slowly pulls them almost all the way out before pressing them in again. Not the same, but he sees Silver’s stunned reaction and it is enough to spur him on.

The girl still has not made a sound and has her eyes pointedly closed.

His tongue presses against the pads of his fingers and then laps in between, slicking them with his spit, sucking on them as he pulls them in and out, in and out. 

They linger like this, on the edge, Silver watching Flint working his fingers in his mouth, their breathing and the wet noises erotic and heavy.

Flint begins working his hips forward and back in time with his fingers, fingers dipping into the slit on his cock, thumbing his foreskin to increase the friction and his pleasure. His entire body goes hot and the desire to come rises harsh and quick. His head falls back for a moment, exposing his neck, but he does not stop.

Silver moans, loudly this time, and it sounds broken. His thrusting turns erratic and so does Flint’s within the circle of his hand.

SIlver pulls back, out of the whore’s mouth as his face contorts in his ecstasy. He places the tip of himself against her still open lips and comes with a whine. Milky spurts coat her lips, her cheeks, and slide off her skin. “Like this,” Silver rasps, wrecked, breathless. “I would paint you with it.” His body trembles as his cock twitches to expend more of his seed. 

The whore keeps her eyes shut.

The thought of Silver’s come on Flint’s face, in his beard, slipping into his mouth tips him over the edge. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth to cup them at the end of his cock. “Ah, God, yes,” he hisses as he feels his orgasm welling up within, the spasms in his belly, his groin, deep inside converging into a pinpoint of pleasure. He jerks against his shuttling hand and the come spills into his waiting palm, his body convulsing in undulating waves of pleasure, his heart tripping a rapid cadence in his chest. 

Chest heaving, eyes open, he locks eyes with Silver as he lifts his cupped hand to his mouth and laps at his skin, drawing his spend on to his tongue and swallowing it. He traces his tongue along his fingers, cleaning himself, tasting his own essence. Salty. Bitter. 

With a final harsh shudder and sigh, his shoulders relax. He gently rearranges himself back inside his trousers, and all the while Silver watches, the girl forgotten. 

Their eyes linger on one another, Silver’s eyes alight with newfound insight, and Flint’s mouth curls into a predatory smile, one with a lot of teeth.

Silver blinks and he runs the pink tip of his tongue along his lower lip in a brazen invitation.

The spell lingers until the girl shifts at Silver’s feet, and Silver looks down with a frown, his attention drawn away.

Flint takes the opportunity to step back into the shadow of the room and moves toward the door. Before he exits, he pauses and scowls at this new development, while another part of him wonders blatantly where it will lead. 

He is not done with this, with Silver, but the revelation of their attraction is not a welcome one. 

Tomorrow. He will deal with it tomorrow. But for now, he needs to focus on anything but the man on the other side of the room.

He shuts the door behind him with a quiet snick and does not look back.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd! If I make glaring errors, let me know! <3


End file.
